


Happy Christmas, Harry

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fluff, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-02
Updated: 2008-03-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Harry and Hermione and Christmas and Best-Friendy Love.





	Happy Christmas, Harry

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

(Originally posted 12/11/2006)

 

* * *

  
Harry shut the battered wooden door behind him as he stamped his feet and rubbed his hands over his arms.  He could see his breath in the winter air and frowned as he glanced into the Burrow’s wintry back garden.  He had seen Hermione sneak out this same door earlier in the night, and he had finally been able to tear himself away from the Christmas festivities to retrieve her.    
  
He peered around with squinted eyes until he saw a soft golden glow from behind some hedges.  What in the world could have possessed her to leave the loud warmth of the Burrow to come out into the cold night?  He shook his head with a wry grin as he plodded his way over to the yellow light.  Knowing Hermione, it could be anything.  Casting ancient charms by the yuletide moon was just as likely as her simply staring into the star-filled sky, with a look of wonder spread over her often-times stern face.  
  
Nevertheless, it was still a bit of a surprise to come upon her, sitting on a wooden table that had seen better days, with those conjured little yellow birds circling her head.  This he had not expected.  She hadn’t yet seen him, so he had a moment to watch her.  She had been  a constant presence in his life for the past seven years—and especially the past six months as the two of them and Ron had been busy finding and destroying the Horcruxes—but he didn’t often just<i> look</i> at her.  
  
Which was really sort of strange that he hadn’t, now that he thought about it.  He was fairly certain that he could close his eyes and picture her in one of a hundred different moods.  He even knew from experience what her imagined voice sounded like in his own head.  But if someone had asked him what she had been wearing the day before, or what her favorite earrings were, or if she liked perfume, he would most probably draw a blank.  He continued to watch her as his brows knit together.  Just a few minutes ago he would have said that he really <i>knew </i>Hermione, the way that he was certain that she knew him.  And yet, here she was, with those blasted birds, and he didn’t even know if she had pierced ears or not.  
  
For some reason, that was when Hermione chose to look over in his direction.  “Harry?” she croaked, her face growing a little pinker as what looked to be embarrassment mixed with the chill of the night.  She quickly and guiltily glanced up and then away from her circle of birds.  “What are you doing out here?” she asked, obviously deciding that it was best to ignore their chirruping presence.  
  
Harry couldn’t help but chuckle a little at how rattled she looked.  But then he quickly smiled at her and made his way over to her.  “I was just about to ask you the same question.”  He went to brush some snow off the spot next to her on the table, when she quickly pointed her wand at the spot and muttered a charm, clearing the snow for him.  He smiled at her and the smile grew wider when he sat down.  “It’s warm, too!” he exclaimed, moving his butt a little against the table in a way that caused Hermione to roll her eyes and give a small grin.  
  
But her grin quickly slipped when he asked her what she was doing out in the cold.  “And what’s the story with your little friends?” he asked, pointing his chin up to the canaries.  “I haven’t seen them for a while,” he continued, before thinking a bit more.  “About a year ago?  Last Christmas?”  
  
At that, Hermione looked down at her swinging feet and Harry just knew that she was knitting her brows together. “But,” he went on, in a quiet voice, feeling the need to keep them hushed against the wide night sky, “that last time you were pretty upset.  About a lot of things.  And, maybe, at Ron...”  
  
At their best friend’s name, Hermione’s head snapped up, her brown eyes dark and unreadable, even with the stars and birds glowing above them.  “You’re not angry about Ron, are you?” he asked, and for some reason he felt very anxious to know her answer.  
  
She just watched him for a bit before sighing, and he could see the tension melt out of her.  She shook her head, and he watched her long hair sway about her shoulders.  “No,” she finally replied, grabbing his hand and holding it tight.  “No, I’m not upset about Ron,” she emphasized as her eyes watched their joined hands.  “I think we all know that it never would have worked out.  It’s just that being in there brought up a lot of memories.  And feelings.  And I guess I just wanted a bit of space.”  
  
Harry thought back to the party they had left.  Order members and Hogwarts’ faculty and friends they hadn’t seen since the end of sixth year had all come out.  All the Gryffindors from their year had come (as well as some others on break from school); everyone wanting to squeeze in some fun and merriment in what had become an increasingly bleak year.  And Harry, Ron and Hermione had certainly enjoyed it; being able to let down their guards for a bit and laugh and exchange small gifts and have some of Mrs. Weasley’s egg nog (liberally flavored by the twins, of course).  
  
And amongst all the laughing and games, Ron and Lavender had struck up a rather friendly conversation.  In fact, by the time Harry had left to look for Hermione, the two of them had been grinning like fools as they energetically danced to Seamus’ impromptu and manic rendition of the Hogwarts school song, sung to the tune of what sounded <i>something </i>like “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”  
  
“You sure?” he asked, as gently as he could.  “I know you’re not crazy about Lavender.”  
  
“I’m sure,” she replied, squeezing his hand again.  “I just want him to be happy,” she said, her face looking up so that her eyes met his.  He was startled to see them wet with tears that she was fighting not to shed.  “That’s what I want for us all.  Especially for you, Harry.  You deserve to be happy.”  
  
Harry stared at her.  “But, Hermione... I’ve got you and Ron.  Of course I’m happy.”  
  
At that, Hermione lost her battle and her eyes began to leak.  Harry took his hand away from hers to wrap her shoulders with his arm as she leaned against his chest, snuffling into his new Weasley sweater.  He didn’t know much else what to do, though he was pretty sure that he had thrown some “there, there”s and an “everything’s going to be all right” in at some point.    
  
And the whole time, Hermione babbled.  “I’m so sorry Harry, I didn’t mean to cry, I don’t know what got into me, but you are the best friend anyone could ever have, and you really mean it, you know? About me and Ron? And you deserve more than that and you don’t even know that you deserve more than that, and it’s all so unfair and I don’t know why I left the party—and I don’t dislike Lavender—but just seeing them laughing and dancing made me sad, I don’t know why, maybe I just feel like I’ll never have that, you know?  But maybe I don’t need that, anyways, after all, I have you and Ron and you two make me happier than I could ever imagine and bloody hell, I think my charm’s wearing off, my rear is freezing!”  
  
Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the rather anti-climactic end to her rambling, and—sniffling as she was—Hermione had to laugh as well.  Wiping her eyes and nose, she pulled away from him and gave him a sheepish grin.  “Sorry about that,” she mumbled.  
  
“No problem,” he grinned at her, grabbing her hand.  It felt good to hold her hand in the cold.  “Though, you did surprise me.  You’re so... <i>together</i> all the time, you know?  You keep me and Ron in line so well, that sometimes I think of you as the grown-up out us three.  I think I’ve sort of thought of you as an adult even when I was eleven.  But you’re just eighteen, Hermione.  You deserve to act like it every once in while.”  
  
“Yeah?” she asked, a little bit of her spirit returning as she arched an eyebrow at him. “You think that the two of you could handle it?  I’m sure we could talk to Mrs. Weasley—she’s got to have a bunch of odd teaspoons lying around.”   
  
Harry let out a groan as he rolled his eyes, and was happy to hear her giggle in response.  “Okay,” he declared, grabbing both her hands as he pulled them to their feet.  “My arse is officially frozen.”  
  
She smiled at him as they faced each other, holding hands and grinning, when one of her canaries flew in between them.  “And no more of these things!” he said, glaring at the birds.  “I think they’re bad for your emotional well-being,” he announced as he pulled out his wand and tried to transfigure them.  
  
Hermione’s hoot broke through the night.  “Good lord, Harry!  What in the world is that supposed to be?” she asked though her laughter.  
  
Harry glowered at what appeared to be mutant yellow twigs of holly with red and green wings, banging into each other and flying dangerously close to their heads.  “They’re supposed to be Christmas Fairies,” he muttered with a frown, as he ducked his head to dodge one of his creations.  
  
Hermione took out her wand and whispered a charm between her giggles,  turning the “fairies” into lightly dancing mistletoe balls and sent them on their way to the Burrow for the party-goers to enjoy.  
  
“Mistletoe, eh?” Harry asked, a mischievous gleam in his eye.  
  
“Oh, Harry!” she responded, that pink blush rising once again in her cheeks.  Harry decided that he really liked that pink on her.  “Don’t worry,” she continued, and he could see that she was a bit nervous, “you don’t have to kiss me!”  
  
He didn’t even need a moment to think that over.  “Well that hardly seems fair,” he replied, stepping forward and putting his hand under her chin to tilt her face up to his.  He could see her eyes widen for a moment before she closed her eyes and oh-so-slightly pursed her lips.  And he brought his lips to hers and softly kissed her.   
  
In some part of his mind, he had planned to simply brush her lips with his.  A friendly kiss.  A best-friendly kiss.  But her lips were so soft, even in the cold.  And he moved his hand to her cheek, and <i>it </i>was soft, too.  And their mouths moved against each other's, their lips  just barely parted so that their breath, warm and alive, mingled together until it felt to Harry like he didn’t have any breath left.  
  
He finally ended the kiss and pulled away, only to hear his slow sigh echoed by her.  They both smiled as he pulled her hand into his and they began to walk back to the house, the mistletoe balls bobbing by the door, waiting for someone to let them in.  As they walked, hand in hand, Harry snuck peeks at her face, reassured to see that a slight grin stayed on her lips, much like the one he was sure that he was sporting.    
  
When they neared the door, she stood up on tip-toe to give him a quick kiss on his cheek.  “Happy Christmas, Harry,” she whispered, her eyes twinkling as he held the door open for her.  
  
“Happy Christmas, Hermione,” he whispered back with a wink, closing the door behind them, cocooning them once again in the holiday warmth of the people they loved.

 

The End 


End file.
